The Story of Us: Part Two - Take 'em to the bridge!

Ah, The Bridge. The Bridge was a Pharmacist from San Francisco. He was funny and cute and charming. We shared a love for the 49ers, which is why we originally spoke to each other. He introduced me to the wonders of the Ben Stiller Show (years after it was cancelled), made me fall in love with The City (but not enough to live there, I'm a Burbie Girl), made me laugh, made me cry, and made me believe that A) I deserved more and that B) Good guys existed, and I could find love again.

He tolerated my penchant for $30 lip glosses and let me teach him culinary skillz. We loved music of all kinds, and we enjoyed seeking out new artists to share with each other. We loved Joss Stone before anyone had ever heard of her, and swayed together at HOB for her first tour. She was so charming and humble and cute - she couldn't believe that so many people paid to hear her sing. On Sunday mornings, he'd go get us bagels and tea and the Sunday Trib, then we'd lounge on the rooftop of his Lakeshore apartment, reading, noshing and sipping and watching the world drift by. We'd go out dancing with my cousins, and made up stupid dance moves like "Driving The Bus" and "Doing the Momo" (an imitation of my cat trying to scratch the side of the couch). That "teaching the dumb white guy how to dance" in the movie Hitch? They totally stole our smack.

After quite some time of spending my life with him, the lesson he taught me had been learned. I deserved more. I wanted more. I wanted more, but not more of him. I wanted the house in the suburbs and dogs and babies and it was painfully obvious to me that this guy wasn't going to be the one I experienced that with.

We went out to see The Polar Express in 3D IMAX, and as I drove him to the Blue Line station, I told him. We weren't going to be a we anymore. We promised that no matter what the outcome of our relationship, we would always be friends and I sincerely wanted that.

He was crushed. There was crying. He said that he had finally decided that maybe he could try to do the house and the marriage and the suburbs (he never wanted any of that, which is why he was "safe" for me) but that if he ever did that, he would only do it for me.

It was never my intention to try to force him into the mold of what I wanted in a husband and partner. He would have been sacrificing too much of what he loved in order to try to make me happy. We all know that never would have worked.

And so we parted ways. It's taken awhile, but we're cool now. In that slow, magical way that time soothes hearts, the painful and ugly parts of our past have melted away and only good memories remain for both of us. He's back in San Fransisco now, caring for his ailing mother. And I'm married and happy and have the house and the dogs and the baby and the life he made me believe I could have. The life he gave me permission to demand.

And I demanded it. From that very first moment I spoke to Hubster, and told him I wanted a Sapphire and Tonic and thought he should buy it for me. But that, dear friends, is a story for another day...